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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480362">Mirage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plonq/pseuds/Plonq'>Plonq</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bolt [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bolt (2008)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandonment, Angst, Gen, Humor, Intrigue, Melancholy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:15:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plonq/pseuds/Plonq</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bolt and Rhino cajole Mittens into explaining why she feels a certain kinship with the Disney villain Mirage from the Aladdin TV cartoon series, she reluctantly tells them her backstory, from the day she was adopted until Bolt met her living in the streets of New York.</p>
<p>Bolt suspects that she may not be the most reliable narrator, and he points out that parts of her story (i.e., <em>all the parts</em>) do not match with the bits that he already knows.</p>
<p>The cat relents and tells a second story that - true or not - sounds much more plausible.</p>
<p>In the end, though, who are we to deny somebody the life they wanted rather than the life they got?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bolt [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mirage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bolt and Rhino eventually found Mittens in the den. The little tuxedo cat was up on the table, lying on an open magazine in exactly the way that Penny's Mom had instructed her <em>not</em> to do on many occasions. She yawned as they entered the room, giving the appearance of one who had just awakened from a nap.</p>
<p>"Hey guys, what's up?" asked the cat, pushing herself up from the splayed pages and stretching as she rose.</p>
<p>"We're bored," said Bolt with a nascent whine to his tone.</p>
<p>"Entertain us," commanded Rhino almost in unison with the dog.</p>
<p>Mittens shook her head and grinned down at the two critters. "And you came to <em>me</em> for entertainment?" The cat sat back and scratched herself under the chin with a few rapid strokes of her rear left foot before speaking again. She walked to the edge of the table and draped the ends of her paws over it, crossing her right paw atop the left one to serve as a chinrest. "Did you guys accidentally let the blue smoke out of the TV or somethin'? You must be <em>seriously</em> bored if you're comin' to <em>me</em> for entertainment."</p>
<p>"What's this about blue smoke?" asked Rhino.</p>
<p>When she saw the shared look of perplexity on the faces of the hamster and pooch, Mittens flipped her right paw face-up and waggled it around a bit as if trying to pull a simple explanation out of the air. "Human technology runs on blue smoke," she said. "Like Penny's computer. Bolt, you remember when you spilled a bottle of Coke on it, and then the next time she went to use it, all the smoke escaped and it stopped working?"</p>
<p>"Oh yeah," said Bolt with a grin. His tail thumped. "That makes sense. When I was a puppy, they had me up on the desk and I had an ... accident on Penny's Mom's mobile phone. That explains why it stopped working after all the blue smoke came out of it."</p>
<p>"Oh, hey," said Rhino excitedly. "It's all coming together now. There was that one time when I..."</p>
<p>"Guys," interrupted Mittens. She yawned. "You came in here just as I was thinkin' about getting ready for my elevensies nap. I don't know how entertainin' you'll find that."</p>
<p>"Eh," said Bolt. He shrugged. "We can always sit here and listen to you snore."</p>
<p>"Hey! Cats don't snore," hissed Mittens, shooting invisible daggers at the pooch from her narrowed eyes. "Besides, <em>you're</em> one to talk. Once you get wound up they scrap the decibel meter and start measuring you on the Richter scale."</p>
<p>"You <em>do</em> snore, Bolt," agreed Rhino. "There's a reason why I sleep with the cover on my ball closed." He cupped his tiny hands to the sides of his muzzle and squeed. "But <em>she</em> has an adorable, squeaky little snore."</p>
<p>Mittens snorted and turned away from the taunting pair, sitting so that her twitching tail hung over the edge of the table. "Even if I <em>do</em> snore," she said in a huff, craning her neck around to fix them with another disapproving look, "that don't give you some kind of license to creep around a girl and watch her sleep."</p>
<p>"Well," said Bolt in an even tone, "it’s not like we're trying to, but..." He flipped a paw in her general direction. "I mean, you kind of sleep a lot."</p>
<p>"<em>Everywhere,</em>" added Rhino.</p>
<p>Bolt nodded in agreement. "So it's harder to avoid you than to creep on you."</p>
<p>Mittens frowned in through for a moment and then chuckled. "Fair comment," she said. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't sleepin' when you found me this time." She walked over to the magazine that lay open on the table and stood on it with her two front feet. "I was just reading the latest Catsmopolitan."</p>
<p>The shepherd blinked. "You mean Cosmopolitan."</p>
<p>"<em>Catsmopolitan</em>," corrected Mittens. "It's written by cats, for cats." She pawed the periodical under her. "Like this one: <em>How Faithful Is Your Owner? Has that hand been petting another pussy?</em>" She jabbed a spot on the page. "Oh, hey, if you guys are bored then we could try taking this little quiz together. It says to take it with your friends, but..." She glanced up at the dog and hamster with a little twinkle in her eye. "I guess you guys will have to do."</p>
<p>"Hey," began Rhino, but Bolt winked and gave the hamster's ball a gentle kick to calm the little rodent.  He planted himself on his haunches and cocked his head, eying the cat up on the table. "Is this one of those quizzes where I find out how much I know about lady dogs?"</p>
<p>"What? No," said Mittens, waving her paw back and forth quickly. "Nothin' like that. It's asking who's your spirit animal, and what that says about you."</p>
<p>"Spirit animal?" said Rhino flatly. "Sorry, Mittens, but I don't give credence to that spirituality stuff. Too much hooey for this hamster."</p>
<p>"It's not like that," said Mittens quickly. "It asks what famous creature of your species you think you identify most closely with, then we answer who we think you most closely match. It's supposed to let you see how differently you see yourself from how others see you."</p>
<p>"That sounds like fun," said Bolt eagerly.  "How about if I start? I see my kindred spirit as..." he paused and rubbed his chin with a forepaw as he thought. "Balto," he said at last with a wag of his tail. "He was a dog who did what had to be done when it was needed."</p>
<p>"That almost works," said Rhino slowly. "But I'm not going to lie, I have a hard time seeing you as anything other than TV Bolt. All the other dogs pale in comparison."</p>
<p>Mittens had moved back over to the edge of the table where she was resting her chin on her paws again. "Scooby Doo," she said.</p>
<p>"Hrm?" protested Bolt with another quizzical tilt of his head.</p>
<p>Rhino was louder in his protest. "He is <em>nothing</em> like Scooby Doo," said the hamster, aghast. "Different personalities, different - well - everything."</p>
<p>"I dunno," said Mittens. "Think about it. Just like Shaggy and Scooby, he works with Penny to help bring down the bad guys, they understand each other better than most humans and dogs ever will, and he'll do <em>anything</em> for a treat."</p>
<p>The hamster looked unconvinced. "I'm kind of with you on the first two," he said in a dubious tone, "but you're blowing hot air on the last one, sister."</p>
<p>The little cat rolled her eyes and grinned. "Oh really?" she said. Mittens spun away from the edge of the table and turned back, sitting up on her haunches and clutching a dog treat between her front paws.</p>
<p>Bolt gasped.</p>
<p>"Hey Bolt," she said, "play dead."</p>
<p>The dog shuddered and sat bolt upright on his haunches, clutching his forepaws across his chest. "A touch, I do confess," he said in a forlorn bark, "I fear I breathe my last." He lifted one of the paws and threw it across his brow before tumbling over backward. The pooch kicked twice with his left hind leg and then lolled out his tongue.</p>
<p>"Very nice," purred Mittens. "You make Sir Lawrence Olivier look like Pauly Shore. A little overwrought toward the end, but bravo!" She lobbed the treat in Bolt's general direction, and the supposedly dead dog's head darted up to expertly catch it.</p>
<p>Rhino's disapproval was written all over his little round face. He stood tall in his plastic ball with his hands on his ample hips. "Have you no <em>pride</em>, sir?" he bellowed in disbelief.</p>
<p>"Hmph," said Bolt trying to talk around the treat and pointing to his bulging cheek as he chewed. "Theve thingf are good!" He swallowed the morsel and licked his nose contentedly. "OK, who's next?"</p>
<p>"I'd go next, but there are not a lot of famous hamsters out here,"  said Rhino. He sighed. "We got the short stick when it comes to characters in literature and entertainment." He held up a claw and struck a dramatic pose. "The powers-that-be said, 'each of you rodents must choose a stick, and its length shall be matched by that of your tails!'"</p>
<p>"That explains the lack of famous guinea pigs too," said Bolt, nodding.</p>
<p>"Penfold," said Mittens with an evil grin.</p>
<p>"I am <em>not</em> Penfold," said Rhino primly.</p>
<p>"He's the only hamster I can think of too," said Bolt. "And he's not a bad guy."</p>
<p>"He's a doofus. I am <em>not</em> Penfold," repeated the hamster, emphasizing each word. "Look, let's just move past hamsters for now and onto cats." He pointed up at Mittens. "You, madam, are Penelope Pussycat," he declared.</p>
<p>"What? How?" said a very perplexed Mittens.</p>
<p>"You were just a lady cat minding her own business when suddenly a creature you didn't want anything to do with came into your life and swept you away."</p>
<p>"It's a bit of a stretch, but I can see..." began Bolt, but he stopped short with a whine. "Wait, does that make me Pepé Le Pew? Does this mean I'm supposed to try and ... woo the cat?"</p>
<p>"Well, not with <em>that</em> attitude you won't," said Rhino flatly, eliciting a laugh from the other two. When they had regained their composure, he looked up at Mittens. "Who do you see yourself as?"</p>
<p>A thoughtful expression crept over the cat's face, and she spent long moments tapping her muzzle in thought with the tip of her right paw before she finally responded. "Mirage," she said at last.</p>
<p>The dog and hamster shared a confused glance over the feline's unexpected choice. "The evil cat lady from Disney's animated Aladdin series, you mean?" asked Bolt.</p>
<p>Mittens nodded.</p>
<p>"Yeah... sorry, I don't see it," said Rhino. He squinted up at the cat and then shook his head. "Nope. You just don't radiate the vibe I'd expect from the incarnation of evil. You don't look like a <em>Mirage</em> to me."</p>
<p>"Hey, you don't know what I was like before we met," said Mittens defensively. "I had lots of time to be a loveless, soulless incarnation of evil before you knew me."</p>
<p>"You know," said Bolt with a strange intensity, "that's something I've always been meaning to ask you about. How exactly did you come to be living on the streets of New York with a small army of pigeons at your beck and call?"</p>
<p>Mittens grinned shyly and glanced away. "Eh, that's boring stuff," she said quickly with a dismissive wave of a paw. "You don't want to hear the dull details of an alley cat."</p>
<p>"Sure we do," enthused Rhino. "If it helps, I'll give you my back story first to break the ice. My people picked me up at a pet shop, gave me a plastic exercise ball, and I spent my days snacking and watching television until you and Bolt showed up." He brushed his front paws together in a manner of one who had just completed a task well-done. "There - the boring story is out of the way. Now let's hear yours. We came in here demanding to be entertained, and this is your chance to deliver."</p>
<p>Bolt frowned and cast an askance look at the hamster. "That's it? You always made it sound like you led a pretty exciting life."</p>
<p>"Vicariously," corrected Rhino. "But let's give the lady a chance to tell <em>her</em> story."</p>
<p>The cat sighed and cast them a sidelong look while she considered. "Okay, fine," she said, alighting from the table and settling in between them. "I've never told this to anyone because it's a bit hard to believe. It's a bit of a ride, so strap in."</p><hr/>
<p>I don't know if I was born at the shelter, but it was the only life that I could remember up to my adoption. I have no memory of my mother either, so I guess we must've been separated as soon as I was weaned onto solid grub. I like to think that she got adopted out to a nice family or somethin'. My littermates and I had a little glass-fronted playroom where we could chase each other around and put on a show for potential adopters.</p>
<p>None of us had names yet, of course, so I'll call them "Gregarious Brother," "Playful Sister," and "Ridiculously Cute Runt Of A Sister." Yeah, you probably see where I'm goin' with this. Three out of the four of us got snapped up real quick, and soon it was down to the homely, shy one.</p>
<p>
  <em>"You're not homely," protested Bolt.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Or shy," added Rhino.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Hush," admonished Mittens. "It's <strong>my</strong> story."</em>
</p>
<p>There ain't a lot to do when you're being kept in solitary, so I spent most of my time lounging back against my cat bed and batting my favourite ball against the wall. This is why I was preoccupied and didn't notice the sharp-dressed man until he was standin' right by the glass and pointin' at me. I thought, "he <em>must</em> be wanting to buy the cat bed," so I moved to give him a better view. But Mister 'Armani suit' pointed at me again. I frowned at him and held up a paw to be like, "what are you, <em>blind</em>? Hello ... ugly little scrawny cat here."</p>
<p>Before he could come to his senses, he had paid the adoption fee and one of them came around into the playroom to bring me out. They tried to sell him a fancy carrier for me, but he'd just said, "she'll be fine," and stuffed me inside that expensive suit jacket of his. It was nice and warm, but I thought I was gonna suffocate from the ... bouquet of human sweat and fancy cologne. I got used to the smell after I rode in that jacket enough times, though.</p>
<p>It became a comforting smell over time, and I still kinda miss it.</p>
<p>As soon as he got in his car - one of those Lexus coupes that will set you back six digits - he pulled me out and plopped me on the passenger seat so that the two of us could get a good gander at each other. He was tall and lanky and looked to be pushing middle-age as humans go - or he might have been in his late 20s and ageing badly. I could never really get a read on him. He was clean-cut with short, slightly receding, ruddy hair, and he always dressed nice. <em>Always.</em> He even had designer-pyjamas. His name was Richard something-or-other, and he spoke with an English accent - when he was speaking English.</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I am pretty sure he is a spy."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"For who?" asked Rhino.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I dunno," admitted the cat. She cracked a wicked grin, "but that just adds to the intrigue."</em>
</p>
<p>He glanced over at me, then grinned and said, "You look like a right proper little lady, wearing her fine white gloves and ready for an evening among high society." He eyed me up and down then, looking like he was making up his mind about something. "'Gloves' is hardly an appropriate name for a fine little cat such as yourself, though. Far too stuffy and formal for the free-spirited scallywag that you look to be. I shall call you 'Mittens' because that is an <em>adorable</em> name. I suppose I should introduce myself." He reached over and tousled my ears gently – something he did a lot in our time together. "My name is Richard. I have a good feeling about you, Mittens. I think this may be the start of a wonderful partnership."</p>
<p>He winked then. "And it is very good that you come with your own little tuxedo. Ha! Yes, that should help you to blend in."</p>
<p>He kept up a constant chatter while we drove back to his place, and it was a drive and a half! He talked about how many shelters he'd stopped at before he'd finally met the cat that fit his exacting requirements. I later learned that his main requirements were "small and scrawny," but hey - whatever gets you a paw in the door to adoption is fine with me.</p>
<p>It turned out that he lived in a high-rise apartment in Manhattan - one of them fancy places with valet parking and a doorman. It was just like the kind you see in a sitcom where they expect you not to wonder how a waitress or starving actor can afford to live there on their salary. I didn't get a real good look at the place the first time we went there because Richard pulled over a couple of blocks away from it and stuffed me into his coat again.</p>
<p>I protested a bit at the time, but he kept shushing me and patting me through the coat. "You have to keep it down, lass; nobody can know that you're with me. This place has a strict policy against pets." I was worried a bit about him getting caught and me getting sent back to a shelter. I mean, someone would have to be pretty unobservant not to notice the bulge of a cat stuffed inside a man's overcoat - especially when she was peeking out between the buttons and her fur was pushing through in spots. The doorman just greeted him like nothing was wrong, though, and called for the valet. It was then that I began to understand why he'd been specifically looking for a scrawny little cat; easier to hide.</p>
<p>
  <em>"It's funny that the doorman didn't notice you," said Bolt. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens shrugged. "I got the impression that they had a don't ask, don't tell arrangement going with the tenants. When the people living in your building are all fancy and important, you learn what not to see to secure your big tips later."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"That makes sense," agreed Rhino. "My previous owners tended not to bother closing doors when it was just me and one of them in the house, so I learned all about selective blindness."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Eww. Not the same thing at all," said Mittens, wrinkling her muzzle in disgust. "Anyway, stop interrupting my story!"</em>
</p>
<p>His apartment was huge - I mean, I wasn't a total expert on those places, but compared to my room at the shelter it was enormous. Even now, I know that it was pretty big for an apartment. It had two bedrooms - one of them he was usin' as an office - and a big walk-through kitchen with a bar attached. He got lots of use out of that bar, hosting fancy dinner parties full of designer suits and dresses. The funny thing about that...</p>
<p>Richard loved his scotch, but he never drank it when he hosted a party. He poured drinks freely for the guests, but he only drank tonic water at his parties.</p>
<p>
  <em>"That makes sense," said Rhino. "If he was a spy like you said, then he was probably staying sober on purpose while the folks around him got drunk and let their guard down."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The cat shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "Anyway, I'm gettin' ahead of myself."</em>
</p>
<p>He definitely wanted me to be out of sight because he kept my food and water and ... box hidden away in the big closet in his bedroom. He'd bring out my toys any time it was just the two of us, but if he was going to be hosting a party, he always put it all away well in advance and would open the windows and spend at least two hours vacuuming and dusting the place. "In case any of my guests have a cat allergy," he'd explain. He always left his coat out, though, and if anyone acted allergically, he'd apologize and say he'd been visiting friends who had a cat.</p>
<p>When we were alone, we spent a lot of time playing the "Invisible Mittens" game. He would put a toy somewhere in the apartment, then he would drop me in another room. The hiding spot and the room were different every time. I was free to get the treat any time that I wanted, but the only rule was that I had to sneak my way to it. If he saw me or heard me along the way, he would pick me up, put me back at the start and say, "Sorry, Mittens, you'll have to do better than that."</p>
<p>It was always harder when Olga was there because then there would be two of them watching for me.</p>
<p>
  <em>"Who's Olga?" said Bolt.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Olga was his 'girlfriend'," said Mittens, making air quotes with her paws. "She's a whole story to herself - I'll get to her later."</em>
</p>
<p>If I made it undetected, though, he would give me a good petting and tell me how clever I was. We'd play with the toy for a while, and he'd give me a treat. As the months wore on, he started making the game harder. He'd begin hidin' the toy inside of other things like a jacket pocket, or Olga's purse, or a backpack. It didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that there was more to this game than just play - he was teachin' me to be a cat burglar.</p>
<p>My first real test came when he threw a small, posh party for a small group of blinged-out bourgeoisies. In retrospect, the disastrous results for me are why I was sure this was just a test run against a bunch of schmucks who were living above their caste.</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens paused there and frowned, tapping the pads of her front paws together in thought. "I've never had much use for folks who go through life pretendin' to be something they ain't," she said slowly. "I mean, you don't see me here pretendin' to be more than the trash cat I am."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"You're not a trashy cat," said Bolt firmly. He patted her paws gently with his, which dwarfed hers in comparison. "You're the most proper and sophisticated feline lady I've ever known."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Not like you've known a lot of cats," replied Mittens with a sardonic grin. "Outside of those scoundrels on your set, I mean. Honey, I was living in an alley and eating scraps brought to me by pigeons when you met me; a garbage cat eating garbage. You can take a gal out of the trash, but you can't take the trash out of the gal."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Ah, nature versus nurture," said Rhino, tapping the tips of his claws together. "I saw a documentary on this some time back called 'Trading Places'..."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Mittens with a dismissive wave of her paw. "All I'm sayin' is that folks shouldn't try and pretend to be what they ain't. A person should embrace their roots, not try to mask them under fake, pretty faces and stories and costume jewellery." She drew a deep breath. "Anyway..."</em>
</p>
<p>He piled up their coats on the master bed in a way that left the pockets exposed for me - didn't need a lot of brains to figure out that I was going to be the literal cat burglar in this caper. I poked through the pockets looking for anything that I thought might interest him and packed them back to my closet. I had little doubt that the things I pilfered were anything but interesting baubles, but even in my inexperienced state, I knew a dry run when I saw one.</p>
<p>Sneaking through the living room was fun at first. Richard and I made a game of it. I made sure that he knew I was there, and then he would do little things to capture the attention of the others in the room when I needed to dart through the open spaces or rifle through a purse. The trouble started when I tried to tug open the flap of the big, overstuffed handbag of an equally overstuffed lady sitting on the couch. It was one of those stupid fabric purses with lots of frills and loops that a gal can catch a claw in and to nobody's surprise, one of my claws got stuck. I twisted and tugged gently at first, then got a bit more urgent with the tugs when it was clear that I was intractably hooked.</p>
<p>I guess my last yank was a bit too hard because the big handbag toppled over onto me, and I ain't ashamed to admit that I panicked a bit then. I jerked my claws free, giving the whole thing a good shake in the process and spilling out half its contents onto the hardwood floor under the sofa. I knew I was about to get caught, so I turned and scrambled away, trying to get a purchase on the slippery floor with all claws out. I'm pretty sure you know the sound - not something that could charitably be called 'stealthy'. I ran to the back of the couch and hopped up onto the back, hanging on with all four sets of claws and flattening myself against it as much as I could.</p>
<p>The whole room was abuzz.</p>
<p>"Was that a cat?"</p>
<p>"Certainly not, my dear. These flats have a very strict no-cats policy."</p>
<p>"Oh dear; is it possible that you have rats?"</p>
<p>"I should hope <em>not</em> - this building gets checked by exterminators every year. I'm sure your handbag simply became unbalanced and you heard the sound of its contents spilling."</p>
<p> He eventually managed to convinced his guests that no quadrupeds were sharing the apartment with them, but I spent the next 90 minutes clinging uncomfortably to the back of the sofa and trying not to sneeze every time the large lady sitting at that end shifted her heft and released small clouds of dust from the cushions.</p>
<p>Later, Richard expressed his pleasure with my collection from the night, even though I had not completed my rounds. None of it was of any value to him, and it all went in the dustbin, but I had proven my worth. There was only one thing that displeased him, and it was something that has affected me ever since. He took hold of one of my front paws and pressed his thumb gently into its pad to extend my claws.</p>
<p>"I should have thought of these," he said. "I could try to keep them trimmed, I suppose, but I think we need a more permanent solution. If you are going to be a sneak thief, you need to be able to sneak."</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens breathed a deep sigh. "And that's why, a week later, I was hobbling around the apartment with bandages on all four of my feet."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Despicable," said Bolt with a low growl in his voice.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The cat looked like she was going to say something, but she just grimaced and shrugged. "It is what it is."</em>
</p>
<p>He waited until my feet were healed before he hosted another party. I could tell right away that this one wasn't a dress rehearsal because of the smell. If you have ever wondered what real money smells like, it has the aroma of patent leather purses and <em>Caron Poivre</em>.  These weren't your investment broker kind of rich people, they were fancy folks of interest who exude intrigue and hang out with other mysterious rich folks. I slinked through the room on velvet paws, poking into purses and pockets alike and then melting into the shadows. It was exhilarating.</p>
<p>Sometimes one of the guests would almost see me, catching a movement out of the corner of their eye, but by the time they looked, I was already gone. I was silent and precise. I was a living shadow. A fleeting glimpse that's not quite there. A <em>mirage</em>.</p>
<p>Richard hosted a few more parties after that, and I started to learn the kinds of things he wanted. Most of what I pilfered ended up in the trash, but he paid close attention to memory sticks, discs of any kind, and folded bits of paper. I always knew when he got something that interested him because he'd get real excited and then call somebody on the phone and talk in a weird language. After that, he would almost always head out somewhere without me and come back all excited with fancy food for me, and something nice for himself. Whatever I was getting for him paid well.</p>
<p>He later sewed a pocket into his coat for me and carried me to a couple of parties. He'd hang me up in the hall, or somewhere out of sight and once the coast was clear, I'd climb out of the coat and do my usual cat thievery, stashing the things I found in his coat, and then hiding back in the pocket when he gave me a sign. Usually, it was something like stretching and saying, "I hate to be a party pooper, but I really must be going."</p>
<p>We fell into a routine of hosting or attending parties - though seldom with the same folk. I don't think he could have known that many people, so I'm pretty certain he had somebody slipping his name into socialite circles. Our life wasn't all parties, though. Over the next couple of years, we passed most of our time hanging around in his apartment. Some of us would spend a good part of the day sleeping in the sun while others talked on the phone, or read, or watched TV, or headed off to the gym. I didn't know enough about humans at the time to realize how unusual this was. It was not until later, when I became a bit more streetwise, that I began to wonder who had been paying for his fancy apartment and lifestyle.</p>
<p>Our final gig was something else. I dunno - sometimes I wonder if things would have worked out better if I'd failed. He went to a really fancy party in the building right across the street from ours. He didn't take me to the party, but I could tell by the way he gussied himself up for it that it was something special. When he came back, he was all proud of himself, going on about how he'd excused himself to use the water closet, but had managed to sneak into the bedroom and open the window a tiny crack. Apparently, that was going to be my way in.</p>
<p>Did I mention that the party's host lived on the sixteenth floor?</p>
<p>It seems that the old boy had been plannin' this one for some time. That night he woke me out of my beauty sleep and told me we were going for a bit of a walk. He hid me in his coat and we rode the elevator up to the sixteenth floor in our building. I peeked through the gap between the buttons in his coat and watched as we walked down the hall and he casually unlocked a door halfway down its length. We entered an empty apartment that was almost as fancy as his, and he told me that he'd signed a lease for it at the start of the previous month.</p>
<p>It wasn't totally empty; he had a kind of speargun thing, some rope and pulleys and a little cat-sized basket. It looked like he had cooked up the kind of plan that one doesn't scheme out if they are particularly attached to their cat. I waited for him to explain his plan in a way that didn't make him sound crazy, but the moment he opened his mouth, the words that flowed out just enhanced his looniness in my mind.</p>
<p>Still...</p>
<p>I heard one time that the fine line that separates genius from crazy is a single, stirred martini.</p>
<p>
  <em>"That was one of Doctor Calico's lines," said Rhino with a tiny harrumph in his voice.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Right, I <strong>knew</strong> I'd heard it somewhere," said Mittens. “A wise man once said, ‘Plagiarism is the sincerest form of copy’.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Both Rhino and Bolt raised a claw and a paw respectively to voice their corrections to the feline’s quote, but the cat pressed on with her story before they could opine aloud.</em>
</p>
<p>The apartment across the way was one of those older places with little concrete ledges at each floor and fairly broad mortar between the bricks. It took him five tries before he managed to get the spear hooked between the bricks on the other building. <em>Five tries</em>. Each one made a terrible racket, and we'd duck down every time to see if anyone noticed. See, the thing is, this was New York. You're not gonna draw much attention with noise - it's the rare moments of quiet that makes people stop and look around.</p>
<p>The spear had a pulley attached to it, with thin rope strung through it. Once he had tugged on it enough times to be sure it was secure, he clamped another pulley to the sill on our side, strung the rope around it, and tied it off into a snug loop. He wheeled the knot across the street and back a couple of times before clamping a ring-clasp onto the rope and snapping the basket into it. He looked at me without saying a word and patted the bottom of the basket.</p>
<p>Of course, I jumped in because what the heck - what's one life when ya got eight more to spare, am I right? I looked over the side while he shuttled me across to the other building, and got a feel for how the world must look to a bird. No thanks. Nope. Done with that. The birds can have it.</p>
<p>Once I got to the ledge on the other side, I made my way across to the wider sill of the only casement window in the row that was open. He'd let me know that he'd cracked it slightly and that  I'd need to pull it open the rest of the way when I got there. This might have been a problem for me in a newer place, but these old mechanisms were so worn that it didn't take a lot of elbow grease to swing it enough for me to squeeze through.</p>
<p>The window opened into the owner's bedroom, right over his bed. When I poked my head in, I found myself looking straight down into his snoring mouth. I managed to reach over and pull myself up onto the headboard so that I could sneak past him. Fortunately, he's one of those folks who slept with his bedroom door open, otherwise the next bit would have been a show stopper. I got out into the hall without a problem and found my way to the next room.</p>
<p>I knew what I was looking for because Richard had given me something exactly like it to bring over with me. I had a little memory stick with a rubber sleeve and a swirly logo of some kind on it. He was very exacting about it - had to be the same size, brand, colour... fortunately it was blue, and I can see blue. The guy had this room set up like an office, complete with a big oak desk with a mini-tower computer on it. I figured what I needed would be up there, so I used his chair as a springboard to get up.</p>
<p>Sure enough, he had a few of those little memory sticks lying scattered on his desk. I put down the one I had and looked at the others until I found its match. I grabbed the other one and pushed mine kinda over to where it had been. I admit that I was feeling a bit cocky and smug then, and that's why I got a bit sloppy. By that, I mean that when I turned, I accidentally hip-checked a stack of CDs and cases he had piled on the edge of his desk.</p>
<p>Do you remember what I said about how noise doesn't attract attention in New York City? That don't apply when it happens inside your apartment. I heard <em>Mister Snorey</em> sputter awake in the other room. There was a bunch of shuffling, and he yelled, demanding to know who was there. Naturally, I hightailed it out of the office, but as soon as I got into the hall he turned the light on in his room and I had to hide. I squeezed in between his laundry hamper and closed my eyes to the tightest squint I could do while still being able to see. I knew he would probably spot me if he turned on the hall light and looked in my direction, but if he didn't, my glowing eyes would give me away if I wasn't careful. A moment later, he came stumbling out of the bedroom with only a pair of tatty boxers and a gun.</p>
<p>
  <em>"What kind of gun?" demanded Rhino.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"What do you mean?" said Mittens.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I mean, was it a Walther PPQ? A Ruger LC9?" The hamster was ticking them on his foreclaws as he went. "A Glock 39?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Or maybe," said Bolt, who was also getting into the mood, "was it one of those GSh-18 ones made by the KBP Instrument Design Bureau?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Oooh, I <strong>like</strong> the way you think," said the hamster.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"How do you guys know so much about guns?" said Mittens, blinking and looking back and forth between the dog and the hamster. "For that matter, what difference does it make? It was the kind of gun that would turn a cat like me into Tender Vittles if she got caught."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"It might tell us where he was from," said Rhino.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens shrugged. "It was a pistol," she said simply.</em>
</p>
<p>He stomped right through the hall toward his computer den, waving the gun around like he was going to attack the darkness or something. Once he got in there and turned on the lights, he swore a bunch when he saw the stack of CD cases on the floor. I could tell that he assumed he'd stacked them too close to the edge or something because he put the gun on the desk and began picking them up and putting the ones that had spilled back in their cases.</p>
<p>I waited until he was completely engrossed in that, and I slinked back into his bedroom again. I hopped up on his bed and used it to propel myself up to the window. I squeezed through and used my shoulder to push it closed again. I don't think he noticed that it was open when he got out of bed, and I didn't want him to notice it now. I could see Richard watching me from across the way, waving at me to hurry up. I don't think he was happy that I had stopped to close the window, and I figured out why later.</p>
<p>He pulled me back over in the basket, and I can assure you that I did not look out over the side for the return trip. As soon as he had me back on solid ground, he took one look at what I had dropped in the basket and he picked me up and gave me a big hug.</p>
<p>"Oh Mittens, you are <strong>the best,</strong>" he crooned. He clutched the little memory stick from the basket in one hand and hung onto me in the crook of his other arm while he blathered on about our wonderful success. I should have figured out something was up when he didn't bother to hide me in his coat when we left the apartment to head back up to ours. In fact, he left everything behind - the basket, the rope strung between the buildings, the speargun...</p>
<p>When we got back up to our apartment, he immediately got on the phone and started chattering excitedly to somebody at the other end while he waved around the memory stick in his free hand. He spent the next few hours by the phone, either making or taking calls. Sometimes he would answer it and simply say things like, "Yes... yes... I see. Yes." Then he would just hang up and either make another call or wait for it to ring again. Eventually, I dozed off on the corner of his desk and the next thing I knew he was picking me up.</p>
<p>"Come, Mittens, it is time for us to leave." He snatched me up in one hand and grabbed the phone with the other, cradling the receiver on his shoulder while he punched in the two-digit number for the night concierge. "Hi, it's me. Please have my car brought to the front at once. Such a <em>dreadful</em> hour to get an urgent call." He paused and laughed. "It's just my mum. She can be quite the dramatist, but it's best if I head over there now. Thank you."</p>
<p>He was carrying me openly now - not hidden in his coat - and as he bustled toward the door taking only me in one hand, his laptop computer in his other, and the memory stick in his pocket, I noticed something for the first time.</p>
<p>
  <em>"What was that?" asked Bolt. The dog was lying with his head on his paws, listening intently to the story. Rhino was also paying rapt attention as he sat forward in his ball with his front claws on his knees.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"He didn't have anything personal in this apartment," said Mittens. "I mean, the place was decorated and homey, but there was nothing in there that could be traced back to a unique individual. No identifying photos, nothin'. It was all generic, like one of those pre-furnished places one can rent. It occurred to me then that this wasn't a home, it was just a place to stay."</em>
</p>
<p>When we got to the lobby, the night doorman took one look at me and did a double-take.</p>
<p>"Is that a ... cat, sir?"</p>
<p>"I found her in the hall," Richard had said. "She's not chipped or tattooed, but I assume she must be somebody's pet because she's very personable."</p>
<p>The doorman reached out toward us then. "I can take her from you if you like. We have an office where I can keep her in case her owner enquires."</p>
<p>"No matter." Richard sidestepped the doorman quickly and kept going. I glanced over his shoulder at the confused man, still standing there with a hand out to take me. "I can drop her at the nearest no-kill shelter on my way out. If anybody enquires about her, you can let them know where she is."</p>
<p>My blood turned cold at the mention of a shelter. I couldn't believe my little fuzzy ears. After everything we'd been through together, and after everything I'd done for him, he was just going to toss me back into the slammer. If that had happened to a later version of me, I'd have bitten him and made a break for it, but I was in a state of shock and denial.</p>
<p>As soon as we got in the car, Richard turned to me and in a gentle tone, he said, "Sorry, Mittens - I lied to that nice gentleman. I won't be taking you to a shelter." I felt my hackles settling again until he spoke next. "On the other hand, I can't take you with me where I am going either. This was a pretty big job, and I need to go undercover for a while. You will need to do the same."</p>
<p>We drove for several blocks before he turned into an alley. He got out and walked around to my side of the car, opening the door for me. "This is where you get out, luv," he said in a very apologetic tone. "My ... people are going to put me up for a bit and get me out of the country for a stretch." I climbed tentatively out of the car, and he tousled my ears for the last time. "My people have eyes and ears everywhere if you know where to look. You'll know our people when you see them. I don't know how long I will be away, but I <em>will</em> come back for you. I promise. I'll send you word through contacts."</p>
<p>As I watched him drive to the end of the alley, I wracked my brain, trying to think of who these contacts might be. Then the answer came to me in a flutter of realization.</p>
<p>
  <em>"Who was it?" Rhino's tone was low and conspiratorial.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mittens paused dramatically before answering in an equally hushed tone. "Pigeons," she said. "They're everywhere. There's nothing in the city they don't see and hear." She licked her paw and shrugged. "Anyway, Bolt kinda knows the rest because he found me about a year later. I'd set up my network of winged spies by then."</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>"Uh-huh," said Bolt with a dubious tilt of his head. "That's a fun story, Mittens, but it doesn't jive with what you told me in Vegas."</p>
<p>"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," replied the cat with a dismissive wave of her paw. "You wanted my back story and I told you my back story. I stand by every word of it. Also, hush - I haven't got to the juicy bits about Olga yet."</p>
<p>"I don't remember her saying anything in Vegas..." said Rhino pensively.</p>
<p>"You weren't there," said Mittens quickly. "And I didn't say anything of consequence.  I dunno what Wags is on about."</p>
<p>"Yes it <em>was</em> something of consequence," said the shepherd firmly. "When you were trying to convince me not to go after Penny, you said something very earnest about being left behind by the family when they moved out."</p>
<p>"Oh," said the cat softly. She tapped her paws together gently and her whiskers drooped visibly. "Is <em>that</em> the kind of backstory you wanted to hear? Sure, fine, whatever - I can tell you that kind of a backstory if it's what you want."</p><hr/>
<p>It's the kind of story that starts with you at a shelter in an urban neighbourhood, where people live in row houses. You're the awkward, thin, moody, middle-cat of the litter who constantly gets overlooked because people have a thing about black cats - especially quiet ones. Your brother and two sisters are cute as buttons; plump, fuzzy little tabbies who take after their mother, and are always playing and wrestling when people come in. They get snapped up pretty quickly.</p>
<p>You're kinda relieved about that because they tended to pick on you because you're so small. You assume you must have taken after your dad. You ask your mom about it a couple of times, but she just shrugs and says, "you probably took after one of them, dear. I didn't get a good look." Also, your mom is always on your case to try and be less moody and more playful so that you can get adopted. She's constantly nagging you about it because this isn't one of those shelters that can afford to hang onto cats and dogs that don't get adopted.</p>
<p>You kinda know what she means, because you've seen them take adult cats and dogs to the back of the shelter and come back again without them.</p>
<p>One day while you're lying in the sun, contemplating the ennui of your existence - there's a short, glorious stretch in the afternoon when the sun comes through the front window at just the right angle to stream into your pen - a family comes in looking for a pet. You see that it's a young man and what you assume are his mate and their female offspring. Their child is over by the puppies, cooing over them while the man and woman talk.</p>
<p>You can hear them arguing. She insists that the daughter wants a puppy, but he says that they're a lot of work and commitment and that they should start her with something easier like a cat. He makes a beeline to your pen, points right at you and says, "this one looks pretty low-maintenance." He waves to the bored lady working at the Adoptions desk. "Hey, we'll take that scrawny little black kitten," he says.</p>
<p>She offers to give you an ear tattoo or a chip, but he doesn't want to put out any more money than he has to, insisting, "it's not like we're going to be letting her outside - not with all the traffic out there." The lady comes over and tosses you into one of those cat suitcases with the bars on the door and plops you on the counter. You look through the bars and you see your mom standing with her front feet against the glass, calling out her goodbyes to you. You've never seen her look so happy.</p>
<p>You call back, "but mom, what about you? What's going to happen to you?"</p>
<p>She meows back, "all of my children are going to good homes. They'll be happy and taken care of. That's all I've ever wanted."</p>
<p>The little girl is all sulky because she wanted a puppy, not a stupid cat. Her mom isn't happy because cats poop in the house and stink. Dad is adamant though. "We'll start with a cat. If it's still alive after two years then we'll get a puppy."</p>
<p>As they're carrying you out of the shop, you never once take your eyes off your mom, who is still standing with her feet against the glass, looking so happy. You're sad to be leaving her but glad that she looks so happy because that's how you'll remember her. Because you know that you will never see her again, even if you wanted to.</p>
<p>On the way to your new home in the car, they argue about what they should call you. Dad wants to name you 'Lucky' because he thinks it is funny and ironic. The daughter wins out though because you're technically her cat anyway.</p>
<p>"Whatever. It's got those stupid white paws so we'll call it 'Mittens' because duh - what else would you call it?"</p>
<p>You learn that your new home is in one of those urban rowhouses that is just nice enough not to be a slum. It is indistinguishable from its neighbours in the block, other than that it's yours. Your new family isn't super-rich, but they don't live in squalor either. The place has two bedrooms, a kitchen with harvest-gold appliances, a bathroom with creaky - but functional - plumbing, and a living room with a couple of tall sash windows overlooking an urban street.</p>
<p>You claim a cushion and make it yours. They complain about it at first, and Mom scolds you while she's vacuuming out your fur, but eventually, they concede that it's your pillow and they move it into the corner of one of the windows over a radiator.</p>
<p>Oh, and you learn about radiators and wonder where they'd been in your young life. You figure out which ones leak steam and which ones don’t, and which ones groan and chatter at odd times while you're trying to sleep, but eventually, you learn how to drape yourself over them to stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter. You can't imagine how you ever survived without them.</p>
<p>Your family finds it amusing, and you are pretty sure they’ve got a couple of unflattering pictures in their photo albums of you passed out on top of a radiator with your tongue lolling out.</p>
<p>The food isn't great, but it’s a step up from the cheap, nutritional crap they fed you in the shelter. The little girl - let's call her Chloe because ... whatever. Chloe eventually warms to you and even remembers to change your water and clean your box without her mom nagging her about it. She even plays with you and pretends to get mad when you decide to lie on things that she's trying to read.</p>
<p>Her dad seems to love you, though, and it's kinda mutual. You've got him wrapped around your little dewclaw, and you can do no wrong in his eyes. He lets you lie in his lap while he's watching TV in the evening after dinner, and he strokes your ears - though he gets a little rough for your liking when he starts yelling at the TV during sports or politics or whatever else sets him off. You know he likes you because he sometimes picks up treats or a new toy for you on his way home from work.</p>
<p>Even mom seems to come around a bit. You can tell because she sometimes tosses you scraps while she's working in the kitchen - especially when she opens some canned tuna. She claims she's just giving you some to shut you up, but you know that she could just kick you out and close the door if she was serious about that. You settle into a comfortable routine, and the months and years slowly roll into an amorphous flow of contentment. Sometimes you remember how happy your mom was when she saw you getting adopted, and you understand why she was so glad for you.</p>
<p>But you don't think about your cat mom very often because - well, you just don't think about it.</p>
<p>Apparently, Dad got a promotion at some point because he came home happy one day, then he started spending longer hours at work, and the family began buying nicer stuff. They replace the kitchen appliances with modern, white ones with a black stovetop and brushed-steel handles. They start eating out a little more rather than bringing home fast food or ordering-in chicken. They start dressing a bit nicer. Everything just gets a bit fancier except for your food - but don't fix what ain't broke, am I right?</p>
<p>One day Mom locks you in the bedroom and you hear a lot of strange sounds and shuffling around in the other room. When she finally lets you out, you see that their comfy old sofa and chair are gone, and they've been replaced by something smooth and tan-coloured. It's got a funny smell that you later learn is that of leather. You explore it from end to end, sniffing every nook and crevice of this strange new furniture. Eventually, you hop up on top of it and walk its length. It's a bit slippery, so you have to dig in a bit and your claws make a "pock pock pock" sound as you go.</p>
<p>Mom hears that, and when she comes dashing in from the kitchen she freaks out. She points at the little marks you made in the leather and she literally starts screaming. You come to realize that maybe she didn't like you as much as you thought. She physically throws you into the daughter's bedroom and closes the door behind you, leaving you in there with no food or water until Dad gets home from work that evening.</p>
<p>You hear them arguing in the other room and catch snippets of words like, "...get rid of..." and " ...can't take it because she's allergic..." When Dad finally comes and lets you out of the bedroom, you see that the new furniture is all covered in blankets. You inwardly congratulate him on finding such a simple, elegant solution and you quickly settle back into your comfortable old routine. You hear him talking to somebody on the phone a bit later, and he is saying things like, "...yes, I understand you don't like to do that, but the wife gave me an ultimatum..."</p>
<p>A couple of days later he puts you into your cat suitcase and lugs you out to the car to go to the vet. You're familiar with the vet - they've taken you there a few times over the years. You're still not sure what that lady does other than test your joints, listen to your chest and remind you that things can go into other holes in your body besides your mouth. Also, she sometimes stabs you in the shoulder and it hurts for a while. Except that this time when she stabs you, everything goes funny and then you wake up in a strange pen with the fur shaved off your right foreleg and a tube sticking out of it. Worse, all of your feet are burning like you had been standing all afternoon on one of the radiators that leak steam.</p>
<p>And you are there for a long, long time in that strange pen with the tubes and the pain. Sometimes when you start to cry from the pain, the vet comes in and does something at the other end of the little hose going into your leg, and your world goes warm and fuzzy and calm. The pain is still there, but suddenly it's like someone else's pain, so you can bear it for a time. Finally, after what you can't tell was days or months, Dad comes to get you. The vet puts you in your cat case, and she gives Dad a bunch of stuff. She tells him to replace the bandages on your feet every two days, and rub some kind of cream on them. He's also supposed to put some stuff in your food to fight pain and infection.</p>
<p>The first time they change your bandages is the worst. It's not the one that hurts the most, but it's the one where you finally learn that your pain is because your claws have been torn out. They're gone. All of them. Even once they're done with the bandages and creams and stuff that goes in your food, your feet still hurt.</p>
<p>They hurt for a very long time, and even when they stop actively hurting, they ache any time they get hot, or cold. For the rest of your life, the ache of your missing claws reminds you of their absence.</p>
<p>Life slowly goes back to normal after that. When Dad brought you home, you saw that they'd uncovered the new furniture again, and they'd hired some guy to fix where you'd accidentally poked holes in it. With a bit of work, it was like new - something you'd never be. Still, with harmony restored, you all ease back into the routine of laps, naps, radiators, and pillows.</p>
<p>One day Dad comes home from work and announces that they want to transfer him to someplace called Colorado so that he can manage an office out there. Mom and the girl you're calling Chloe are reluctant to go because they have friends and stuff in New York, but he tells them that the company will pay for the move and make up the difference in the value of their house. He shows them pictures of the new house they'd get, with an actual yard.</p>
<p>"You know what a yard means..." he prompts, and suddenly Chloe lights up.</p>
<p>"A puppy!" she exclaims.</p>
<p>Dad tells her that she took care of you so well that he thinks she's ready for the responsibility now. You're not exactly thrilled by the idea, and you're pretty sure she'll forget that you even exist once she gets a puppy, but in your heart, you know that you've always been Dad's cat anyway.</p>
<p>The next few weeks are a bustle of cleaning and activity. They're throwing out almost everything that's not bolted down. It looks like about the only thing they plan to move is their beloved leather sofa and chair - even their beds are going in the trash. Dad keeps reminding them that the company is paying for the move, but mom insists that she wants to start fresh so that she can colour coordinate the new place.</p>
<p>Moving day comes, and they shuffle you from room to room to get you out of the way while the movers either take things to the truck or haul them out to the alley as trash. It's a little strange being dropped in a room full of boxes, to later be moved to one that's empty aside from you. Finally, the men are gone, and it's just the family with their sleeping bags and a few suitcases, and you. They're all giddy, and act like they're camping in their old house. They order-in pizza with extra pepperoni and share some of it with you when it arrives. It's a perfect closure to the end of a few frantic weeks.</p>
<p>In the morning they load you into your carrying case and put you out on the front curb with all their other things. As usual, Chloe has her face buried in her PlayStation Portable, holding it in one hand while she absently flings things into the back of their trendy SUV crossover with her other. You worry that you're going to be the next thing flung, but she seems to have enough sense of mind not to do that. Her dad reminds her to "leave room for the cat" and she makes that groan/sigh that kids her age do to indicate that they're being hard-done-by.</p>
<p>"There's room for the cat," she whines, and she shoves a few things further into the back of the car just to be safe. You wait for her to put you in the car, but something in the game she's playing does not go her way. She gives another long-suffering groan and starts using both hands to play the game, holding the little console right up to her nose as she wanders back around toward the front of the car, leaving the back hatch wide open.</p>
<p>"Is everything loaded back there?" asks Dad.</p>
<p>"Ya, whatever," said Chloe as she gets into the back seat.</p>
<p>"Even the cat?"</p>
<p>"No, the cat is <em>not</em> in the car!" you call. "The cat is still back here on the curb!"</p>
<p>"Ugh," says Chloe, "obviously. I mean, listen to her back there. Is she gonna do that the whole way to Colorado?"</p>
<p>"Okay, then let's hit the road. Everyone wave goodbye to the old house."</p>
<p>"Bye, old house," say Chloe and Mom with a succinct lack of enthusiasm.</p>
<p>"Wait! Cat here! I'm still on the curb! Don't forget the cat!" You're yelling as loud as you can now, trying to get at least one of them to look. "I'm in my carrier on the curb! Don't forget the cat!"</p>
<p>The last thing you hear as Dad hits the button to close the rear hatch is Chloe.</p>
<p>"You're <em>sure</em> it's going to shut up once we start moving?"</p>
<p>You watch as the car starts to roll away, still yelling and throwing yourself at the front of the cage. You're mentally willing one of them to notice your absence, question your silence, or even glance back at the old house and see you by the curb. The car gets to the end of the block and stops. You feel your knees melt in relief because they <em>obviously</em> just noticed that they've forgotten you, and they're stopping to turn around.</p>
<p>But instead, they turn right - without signalling of course - and drive away out of sight. You keep calling after them because there's nothing else you can do. You call until you're too tired to call, then you sleep fitfully, waking at every sound because you're convinced they've come back for you.</p>
<p>That night is the worst night of your whole life. It gets cold. Real cold. They've left you with a little scrap of a blanket in your pen, but it does nothing to stop the chill from sinking deep into your bones. You are also utterly alone for the first time in your existence. It was different when the family left you alone in the house because you were at home. Now you don't even have that. You are just a cold, shivering, lonely little cat hunkered in her tiny plastic prison.</p>
<p>Of course, it starts to rain just before dawn. You hunker at the back of your little carrier, trying to stay dry. It works for a while, but enough rain gets in through the front to soak the blanket right through. As the wind kicks up a bit, you push the blanket up against the front to block the worst of it, but it goes through the seams, reminding you that no matter how low you've sunk, it's possible to be even more miserable. They didn't leave you any food or water, but you manage to lap up enough water pooled behind the blanket to sate the worst of it.</p>
<p>You spend another full day on the curb, trying to remember what it was like not to be wet and miserable. Trying not to think about food or your litter box. You convinced yourself that they've finally noticed your absence, and they're taking measures. Nobody just drives off and leaves their cat in a box on the curb, right?</p>
<p>On the second night, you are even colder than you were on the first, but it's not quite as bad because you've given up on hoping that they're coming back for you. Giving up hope is cathartic. You could see one night on the curb - they get to a motel and check-in and as they're grabbing their stuff from the car they notice that you aren't there. You know them well enough to know that they're the types who would wait until morning before calling some friends to let them know about you.</p>
<p>"Could you please go back to our old place? We're such Silly Billies that we seem to have left our cat sitting on the curb when we drove off yesterday. She's probably cold and hungry."</p>
<p>By the second night, though, you can't reach any conclusion other than that they noticed you were gone and couldn't even be bothered to make a call. They're your family! You and Dad were tight.</p>
<p>You thought.</p>
<p>Apparently, not.</p>
<p>When the third day dawns, you're curled up at the back of your carrier, playing things over and over again in your head, wondering if there was something you could have done differently. Yelled louder, perhaps. You almost don't notice the sound of people approaching until they're standing right by you.</p>
<p>"...and they left the old carrier when they moved out. Looks like it's got a soggy blanket jammed in the front and it smells kinda funky. Still looks pretty new, though. I'm gonna dump out the blanket and take it home and hose it down."</p>
<p>You almost call out again and catch yourself. If they know you're in the carrier, they won't open it. They'll know that your family abandoned you, and they'll do what people do for stray cats; they'll take you to the shelter. You'll be there as the adult version of the cat that nobody wanted. And nobody wants an adult cat.</p>
<p>You know what the shelter does to adult cats that nobody wants.</p>
<p>You know that you will only have one shot at this, so you hunch down in the bottom of the carrier, brace your hind feet against the back of it and wait. You put your front paws against the blanket and get ready to push as soon as the door opens. The only thing that could hamper your escape would be if you got your claws stuck in the blanket. In a moment of ironic clarity, you realize that your former family did you a single, unintentional favour when you were together.</p>
<p>The moment the door opens, you push with all the strength you have in your shaky legs. You ignore the squeal of surprise from the stout young lady who had opened the carrier when a blanket and cat come sailing out of it. You hit the pavement with your legs pumping, running down the street and leaping the first fence that presents itself.</p>
<p>You ... find yourself reluctant to talk about the next few weeks. The streets are not a friendly place for a declawed cat. The streets are cold and wet, and they're filled with bullies and predators after dark. You learn very quickly who to trust and who to distrust. Definitely distrust coyotes. Oh ya, and you learn that urban coyotes are a thing when you count yourself lucky to only lose part of an ear to one but escape with your life.</p>
<p>You look for porches with broken boards that give you access to sleep there for the day. You steal food from outdoor dogs and cats while they're asleep. You learn how you can crawl up onto the engine of a car that was recently parked to warm up a bit on the coldest days as long as you are careful not to fall asleep up there.</p>
<p>When one of the few friendly cats you meet tells you that you'd be better off heading downtown, you take the advice.</p>
<p>"More strays like you, but fewer predators," he tells you. "The dumpsters behind most of the good restaurants are already spoken for, but a smart young thing like you should be able to work your way up the pecking order in time."</p>
<p>When you get into the city centre, you discover that it's just like he said. All the good spots are taken, but it's still better. There are vents you can sleep on, or under to take the edge off the cold of winter and lots of grimy grottoes in which to escape the sultry heat of the summer.</p>
<p>You also learn about pigeons; the winged denizens of the city. They're basic barrio birds. The common flock of the urban setting. You know ... morons. You learn that you can get them to trade food for protection. You just let them assume that they're buying protection from you and hope that they never figure out that they could just - you know - fly away.</p>
<p>You settle into a new life, where you are usually too cold, or too hot, always hungry, and very lonely. But given your situation, it's probably the best life you're ever gonna have.</p>
<p>The winters are the worst. The cold creeps right into your heart, enuring the steel of it to ice. You know that you're here because you once trusted. You once dared to love. You vow that you will never trust again. You will never love again. You will never leave yourself vulnerable to be betrayed again. You're a vault whose key has been lost forever. A heart that shall never open. Cold. Soulless.</p>
<p>Mirage.</p><hr/>
<p>Mittens' voice had been slowly fading toward the end and the name "Mirage" barely came out as a hollow whisper. Her ears lay back against her head, and her eyes had taken on a distant stare, looking past the paws that she had turned upward, spreading their toes to show off the ugly scars where her claws had once been. She looked as tiny and frail as Bolt had ever seen her.</p>
<p>"They were movin' to a nice place with a big yard. Why would you bother coming back for the cat when you're gettin' a puppy?"</p>
<p>The white shepherd exchanged a glance with Rhino, who was wringing his little claws together in an obvious loss for words. The dog reached over with one of his giant paws and gently lay it across the little feline's upturned footpads.</p>
<p>"Mittens," he said softly, and when she did not respond immediately, he said it a bit louder. When the cat finally responded, he looked deep into her sad, lost eyes and grinned gently. "You weren't done telling about Olga."</p>
<p>Rhino picked up the cue immediately. "Yeah, sister," he said emphatically. "You said you were just getting to the juicy bits."</p>
<p>Mittens blinked rapidly a few times, looking back and forth between the other two before a wicked little grin ticked up at the corner of her mouth, and a gleam caught fire in her eye.</p>
<p>"Oh, hell yeah it gets juicy," she said with renewed life in her voice. "Olga - now <em>there</em> was a piece of work..."</p>
<p>End.</p>
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